


A Long Time Coming

by Alethia



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Comfort Sex, Disappointment, Episode Related, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-03
Updated: 2008-08-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 03:24:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's late, Sam."</p>
<p>He held up a paper bag. "I brought you chocolate croissants."</p>
<p>Ainsley moved back. "In that case, my door's always open.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Long Time Coming

**Author's Note:**

> Post 2.22 "Two Cathedrals." Written for oxoniensis' Porn Battle VI. Prompt was "Republican." Originally posted on LJ [here](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/304983.html#cutid2).

Ainsley blinked at the sight of Sam slumped against her doorframe.

"You're at my door."

A ghost of a smile. "I am at your door."

"How'd you know where to find my door?"

"It's the White House, Ainsley. We know things. Though apparently not things like the difference between sins of commission and omission," he added, bitter, gaze turned inward.

"It's late, Sam."

He held up a paper bag. "I brought you chocolate croissants."

Ainsley moved back. "In that case, my door's always open."

He walked in and dropped uninvited onto her couch. Ainsley sat gingerly beside him.

"You were good on TV," he offered.

"I was."

"You sure you're a Republican?"

"Pretty sure, yeah."

"'Cause you went on TV and defended a Democrat who at the very least deceived us all."

"I'm a Republican, Sam, not a robot. I'm a Republican who's incensed that this is all anyone can discuss. I want to argue real issues, not made-up ones. Let's talk about taxes and teachers and yes, even guns. Let's not spend the next six months debating if we'd elect a President with MS and accept that we already have. Let's not waste our lives getting some two-bit revenge that cheapens everyone. Let's not do that."

Sam stayed quiet a moment. "You're my favorite Republican."

"Well, that's a shame because I like you not at all."

"Hey, I brought you chocolate croissants."

"I like you slightly more than not at all."

"I'll take it."

She ignored the invitation to levity and asked the important thing: "You really didn't know?"

Sam simply looked at her; she could _see_ the devastation.

Ainsley scooted over, leaned into his shoulder. And apparently surprised him.

"That's a change of heart," he said without inflection.

She leaned up and hovered her mouth inches from his. "You came here."

"I needed some sanity. So I came to a Republican, which tells you about how well things are going."

Ainsley closed the gap and pressed her lips to his, the gentlest touch. He instantly hauled her into his lap, crushing their mouths together on some kind of choked sob.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held on. He had been all drained defeat, but now a kind of defiant passion rose. He kissed her deep and wet, cupping her jaw and exploring her back through her t-shirt.

Ainsley returned the kiss, hard. She used his tie to pull him closer. His fingers snuck under her shirt, stroked her lower back, and Ainsley broke away from his mouth to breathe in, sharp.

"Bedroom," she said shortly. She tugged on the tie again to get him to move the short distance to her room. He kept kissing her and she kept falling into it, so the trip became a blur of heat and mouths and stumbling into each other and everything around them. If she hadn't half-fallen into her bedroom, they might have stayed pressed up against the wall forever.

She hit the bed and her breath caught. Sam leaned over her, shirtless, streetlights haloing him as he pulled her pajama pants off and let them drop. Then he followed her down.

It felt surreal, being skin-to-skin with him, something that couldn't happen in this world. But at the same time her skin tingled with awareness, head buzzed, every sense alive and responsive.

She gasped his name when he slid into her. He breathed "Ainsley," into her mouth and got a hand on her thigh to press deeper. Then he turned them, pulled her up so she sat astride him, and started rocking her up and down without ever letting go of her mouth.

Ainsley gripped his arms, felt the muscles there working. She helped raise herself up and sink back down, swallowing his groan. He freed one hand to trail between them; she finally broke their searching kisses with a gasp.

Sam touched her, expert, and her body felt molten in his arms, beyond alive. His fingers on her clit became insistent; he sped up their rhythm. Ainsley luxuriated in it, pleasure pooling low in her belly. 

Coming was like riding a slow wave—it went on and on and on. Ainsley mewled into Sam's mouth and let it wash over her. He sucked on her lip and didn't stop touching her until she had to push his hand away. 

They collapsed together, tangled up and panting.

"I might not be able to get up," Sam said, rough.

She smiled and curled into him. "Stay for breakfast. There are croissants." 

His laugh was a thing to hear.

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


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